Tales from the 22nd Century
by cjnwriter
Summary: A series of one-shots, sporadically updated and in no particular order, from the 22nd century.


**A/N: My muse seems to be liking SH22 more and more all the time, so I'm hoping I'll be able to write a series of one-shots in this fandom. It'll basically be like my Doyle's-canon-Holmes-based series, Bits and Pieces but in the SH22 fandom.**

**This particular story was inspired by #38 in "100 Things I Love About Sherlock Holmes" by Aleine Skyfire.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"Really Lestrade?" I say as we hurtle through the air in her hovercar. "Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

"Of course!" she replies, swerving sharply to the left, throwing me against the door. "Sorry. But I promise, you'll love pizza!"

"I'm not so sure I should be trusting your knowledge of my taste in food," I say dubiously. "Last time…"

"Okay, so you didn't like burgers. But not all modern food can be bad."

"If you say so."

"C'mon, Sherlock, just give it a try." She gives me a look that said I'm going to have any choice in this matter, and that I may as well give it up.

"Pay attention to traffic, you're starting to scare me," I say, partially to stop her from looking at me that way, and partially because her driving is beginning to frighten me. I'm not yet used to these hovorcars, and she takes far more risks than I would like. Then I add, "Is pizza at least eaten in a more civilized manner than a burger?"

Lestrade appears to be refraining from rolling her eyes. "You can eat it with a knife and fork if you like," she says. "Pizza is a civilized as you make it."

A few minutes later, she performs one of her better landings just outside an Italian-style restaurant and parks the car. "Ready?"

I sigh reluctantly. "I suppose I can give it a try, at least. As long as it's not as greasy as burgers."

"Don't worry, this place has the best quality pizza you'll find anywhere in London, I promise. And could you please just let the burger incident go? I'm not going to make a mistake like that again."

I suddenly feel a little guilty for mentioning it so often in the past few minutes. "I'm sorry. I should have a little more faith in your judgement."

She waves me off as we climb out of the car. "It's okay—it's totally okay."

I give a curt nod in reply, and stare up at the building's facade. They seemed to have based their design on old Italian style buildings. The wall was made up of red brick and large quoins of a darker shade wrapped around to the sides of the building. Several large windows on the ground floor and the glass front door spill gentle yellow light onto the darkening street. A large red and white striped awning spans the width of the facade, displaying the name, "Andretti's Italian Restaurant". Two large pots of flowers sit on either side of the arched doorway, giving the little restaurant an old-fashioned but welcoming appearance.

Lestrade interrupts my thoughts.

"Done admiring the masonry yet?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Oh, I was simply practicing a little deductive reasoning." I fib to avoid admitting that I am becoming far more sentimental in my second life. I'm actually beginning to consider the possibility that I am subconsciously compensating for the lack of my old Watson's romantic personality in my new life.

"Mhmm," she replies, though her expression tells me she is thoroughly unconvinced.

"What?" I say a little defensively, but there's no point. Apparently she can see right through me.

She gives a light laugh and shakes her head. "Never mind."

I open the front door of the place, and allow Lestrade to enter the establishment first. Looking around, I see that the inside of the building is decorated in a similar style as the outside. Rectangular tables covered with large white tablecloths are positioned in three rows, all parallel with the left and right walls. The ones in the middle row seat up to six, and the ones on the two side rows are smaller, most seating only two. There are only about fifteen other diners here besides Lestrade and myself, all respectable-looking and reasonably well dressed. Quiet Italian music plays in the background, and the whole place smells (rather deliciously) of tomatoes and garlic.

A young lady greets us then leads us to our table. I pull Lestrade's chair back for her and after she is seated, sat myself. I glance up at the ornately patterned ceiling, from which four chandeliers dangle, refracting the light into small rainbows in a few places.

I notice that the curtains and carpet are both a rich burgundy color, and a mural of a busy Venice canal adorning one of the walls. Everything is pleasing to the eye, and it all makes for a comfortable, somewhat old-fashioned atmosphere—very different from most things in this era, and I am suddenly assaulted with an overpowering sense of nostalgia.

"Hello, earth to Holmes," says Lestrade waving a slender hand before my eyes, startling me from my reverie.

"Hmm? I'm terribly sorry," I reply quickly. "What did you say?"

"I was asking how hungry you were," she says, with that same inexplicably amused expression she had worn outside the restaurant.

I shrug. "Fairly hungry, but not famished."

"I'm pretty hungry, so we can probably order a medium. Any idea what you'd like for toppings?"

We discuss the question for a little while, and then decide to simply order a plain cheese pizza, since I'm not sure I will care for any of the toppings and Lestrade says the cheese pizza here is one of their best. Lestrade also decides to order a deep crust.

A polite teenage waiter comes and asks us what we would like to drink. I order a water, and Lestrade orders a soda of some sort.

We sit quietly for a time, sipping our drinks and discussing a couple of cold cases I was thinking of pursuing.

When our pizza finally comes, it does look quite appetizing. I lift a slice from the pan and carefully set it on my plate, cutting the end into pieces as Lestrade picks her piece up by the crust and takes a bite. I inwardly cringe a little, but say nothing.

I spear a piece of the pizza onto the end of my fork, and gently blow a few tendrils of steam away before placing it in my mouth. It's surprisingly delicious: a wonderful blend of tomato sauce, several types of cheese and the breading is wonderful.

My expression must be reflecting my thoughts, because Lestrade grins and says, "Told you, didn't I?"

"All right, for once you are a step ahead of me," I admit in my best sheepish tone, but what I am thinking is: _This is has to be one of the best foods I have tasted since I my return from the grave!_ However, I enjoy giving Lestrade a hard time too much to say as much. Besides, I'm sure she can tell already.

Lestrade gives me a bright smile. "Glad you think so."

"Of course, statistically speaking it would have had to happen sooner or later," I add impishly.

She shakes her head. "Honestly, Holmes! Is there some sort of unwritten rule that says you can't give a compliment to someone without insulting them as well?"

"I'm merely jesting," I reply, smiling. "Thank you very much."

"Any time," she replies. "Hey, I should show you that Chinese place down the street sometime. You doing anything Thursday night?"

* * *

**A/N: For all curious parties, in my research involved with writing this, I learned that while pizza's been around for centuries, the first recorded evidence of one being sold in Britain wasn't until the 1930's. I found that interesting.**


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